Continued rain and fog. Attended a chapel in the neighborhood as the weather was by no means favorable to more distant enterprises. It was the same place where I last year went to hear a french service, during the time of the exhibition. Now it was conducted by a mild quiet man to a flock filling perhaps half the seats. The sermon was upon the crucifixion of the Savior as the type of goodness to man. As an example he urged the duty of exertion upon all of us with some force. In this connection a little volume lately issued about the Sanity commission supplies an admirable example of what generosity and heroism can do in a crisis like the present. I have read it with a good deal of emotion. My usual walk, calling on my way to see Mr Bates. He seemed encouraged about himself from the fact that he could lie down last night and sleep. But it did not appear to me that there was any permanent improvement. He talked a little, but on the whole languidly. Home by the way of Hyde Park where the fog was thick and the place very solitary. Last year, at this time or nearly was the panic about the garotte. Dined by invitation, with Mr and Mrs Sturgis, at the house they have taken for a couple of months in Carlton Terrace. Nobody there but Col and Mrs Ritchie. A quiet little party of five; much better than the long and formal banquets. Mrs Sturgis seemed quiet unwell. Home at eleven.549